


rotting leather (so are my bones)

by americananirvana



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Convenience Store, Fluff, Homelessness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prostitution, Tysh, inspired by edy but not tagged bc i didnt wanna bother them, josh x tyler - Freeform, joshler - Freeform, one of my better fics?? maybe read??, twenty one pilots - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:58:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americananirvana/pseuds/americananirvana
Summary: josh isn't sure how he got here, the wood digging into his hipbones and tyler perched above him, their smoke swirling in the air like a van gogh painting.his hair sticks to his neck, and the air smells like weed and chlorine.or the one in which josh lives in an abandoned car, tyler works in a 24 hour convenience store, and things get better.eventually.





	rotting leather (so are my bones)

**Author's Note:**

> this took a long time, and it's not that bad, surprisingly.  
> this is a pretty heavy and dark fic. watch out for yourselves and check the archive warnings, please.

josh pulls his frayed, dirty blanket closer around him, his whole body shaking uncontrollably.

he lets out a long, shaky sigh, and it steams in the air like cheap cigarette smoke.

the torn leather is cold and he can feel the chill through his thin jeans.

the window fogs up, and josh wipes it away with the edge of his checkered blanket and stares boringly out at the empty parking lot; and beyond that, the glowing lights of the highway and the downtown bustle of los angeles.

the window fogs up again, and josh curls up tighter in his useless blanket and tries to sleep.

he awakens with a jolt, squinting his eyes as the sun shines unforgivingly through the dirty glass of the backseat window.

he groans and bangs his head against the car door.

he picks a tshirt from the many laying scattered on the floor and changes.

he closes his eyes and rests his head against the window.

there's a knock on the door, and josh opens his eyes slowly.

he rolls down the still foggy window, looking out with tired eyes.

there's a blond man outside, a fedora tilted at a nervous angle on his head. his fingers tangle and untangle together, and he looks half scared to death of josh.

his voice is soft and shaky.

"hi, i just see you around here a lot and i was wondering if you needed help?"

josh rubs his eyes and smiles reassuringly at the other boy, who relaxes visibly.

"yeah, thanks. just don't know where im gonna get my next meal from."

the other boy flushes and stutters, pulling a wad of crumpled one dollar bills out of his pocket.

"sorry, it's, it's not much but it'll probably last for a day or two-"

josh just laughs, and gently takes the money from his shaking hands.

"thank you so much, don't worry about it. what's your name?"

"im patrick."

patrick smiles, a tiny bit, then rushes away to disappear inside the factory building.

josh rolls up the window, and pulls on his only jacket.

out of the car he goes, through the parking lot, and into the early morning chaos.

he finds a sunny, grassy spot in the park and he sleeps.

when he awakens again, the sky is dark. the cold has started to infest his skeleton again, and he curses his sleepless mind.

he walks, arms clutched tightly around himself, to the fountain that splashes ceaselessly in the center of the park.

the dull ache of hunger settles into the nonexistent curve of his stomach.

he discards his jacket and shirt onto the grass, and shivers.

he dunks his head into the freezing water of the fountain, and counts as he runs his hands through his dirty hair.

10 seconds.

he does it again, and again, and again until he's gasping for breath, his hands are numb there's water running in streams down his back.

he dries his hair messily with the old, torn shirt in his back pocket and wipes away the droplets of water tracing down his spine.

he puts his shirt and jacket back on and ignores the wind blowing and the drops of water rolling down the back of his neck, and stumbles the miles back to his car, and he hopes that somebody shoots him on his way there.

he makes it there alive, and collaspes into the windless confines of the car and drops into a dreamless sleep.

he wakes up to tapping on the window again.

he rolls it down, to find a black haired man standing there.

his eyes widen.

"holy shit, patrick wasn't kidding when he said you were hot."

josh just blinks as the other man stares at him, open mouthed.

he shakes his head and hands him a ten dollar bill.

"my name's brendon, but you can call me whatever the fuck you want, pretty boy."

josh just smiles.

"thanks, bren."

the boy grins wide, and sprints off somewhere.

josh stares at the ceiling and wonders who will come tomorrow.

he packs his shirts into a bag and decides to go to the fountain again.

as he walks away, worn shoes near silent on the asphalt, he looks back at the car and prays to god that it'll be here when he gets back.

he shivers.

it's all he has.

 

people give him strange looks as he washes shirt after shirt in the chemical blue of the fountain, but he couldn't care less.

he twists them out again, one by one, and shoves them back into the plastic bag.

he sighs and drags it back to the car, and tries not to think about the wide open rooftop of the building next to him.

his tongue is dry and his mouth is pasty.

he shoves a few dollars in his back pocket, pulls on a jacket, and walks towards the neon sign that advertises a 24 hour convenience store.

there are bells on the door, and they jingle weakly as josh half kicks, half pushes the door open, hands trembling again.

the boy standing behind the counter snuffs his cigarette in the little ashtray sitting next to him.

"hiya lovely, how can i help ya?"

josh just puts a bottle of water onto the counter with a stiff smile.

"i like your eyes."

this time, it's sweet, like a flower slick with honey and dusted with sugar.

josh is not fooled. he glances sparingly at the faded nametag sitting on the brunette's shirt.

it reads, tyler.

"thanks. the doctor really did a good job, don'tcha think?"

tyler stiffens, then laughs.

josh doesn't look at the bandages that wrap around both of his wrists and how gingerly he moves to rack up his total.

"thanks." he pulls his sleeves down and grabs the bottle, and turns to walk back into the place he doesn't belong to.

"hey, wait."

josh turns around.

"what's your name?"

"josh." his smile is tired, and forgiving and tyler thinks he must have stolen it from an angel.

he twists open the water and sips as he bumps the door open with his hip and marches back out onto the street and to the sea.

he sleeps well that night.

 

his fingernails are long and uneven.

he's always accidentally driving his hands into the doors and seats of the car and they always break off and it hurts when josh scrapes at his arm.

today, he sits in the front seat, his bare feet cold and his knees to his chest.

he stares out the cracked windshield to the grey brick wall beyond, and wonders who's car this was.

all that was left was a crinkled brochure for a rehab center and an empty pen.

these are not the happiest of items, and josh wonders if the owner is still alive.

josh is always terrified that he will come back and there will be nothing in the parking space.

that even the little he has will be ripped out under him, and he will disappear like sand into the shifting winds.

it never happens.

sometimes there is graffiti, but the street artists like him, he thinks, and they paint shiny metallic eyes and dripping lips and radioactive flowers and smiley faces everywhere.

if his pockets weren't empty he'd be out there with them.

instead he's sitting in the front seat of somebody else's memories, somebody else's sanctuary, somebody else's vessel.

the radio doesn't work, and josh is tired of sitting in silence and realizing that things will never get better, that he lives in a fucking car and that nobody will be around to bury his body.

he wonders why he doesn't just get on the roof of the factory and close his eyes and fly, just like his mom always said he could.

he guesses he doesn't want patrick and brendon to find his disgusting, mutilated body.

the dull ache of hunger has settled and grown into the lining and the very bones of his body and he feels weak.

he looks through his skin and he imagines it as paper, and peels away the layers and layers until only skeleton bones remain.

josh sighs and grabs another couple dollars and leaves the jacket behind this time.

he walks back to the same convenience store.

his throat hurts.

he walks tiredly through the tiny aisles, picking out the cheapest food he can find and dumping it onto the counter in front of an unimpressed tyler.

"hey josh, i got something for you!"

josh looks up, wearily.

tyler is holding out a tiny bouquet of daises, the kind you could find in the grass of a public park.

"i thought they would look cute in the holes of your gauges."

josh smiles and fumbles with the flowers, gently grasping their thin stems.

"can you do it? i don't want to crush them."

he cannot rely on his hands.

tyler's hands are slender and deft. they place the flowers in his gauges gently, arranging them like josh deserves to be decorated, needs to be decorated.

"thanks." and it comes with another heavenly smile that blooms flowers in tyler's head, daises and sunflowers.

"and josh?" tyler asks as he checks out all of josh's things.

"yeah?"

"can i have your phone number?"

josh freezes for a moment, and the silence rings violently in his ears like fire alarms.

"i don't have a number."

josh says shortly, and he's gathering his things in his arms, and his skeletal hands are cold as they accidentally brush tyler and out the door he goes before tyler can blink.

josh smells odd.

like chlorine.

 

he sits on the roof of his car, making sure any and all paint is dry and he eats the shitty gas station quality food.

it isn't much of a view. he's surrounded by the dull grey of brick walls and the occasional pop of graffiti.

the area around him is riddled with various alleyways that lead into god knows where and there are sometimes screams and cries for help that he never dares answer, and on those nights he hides in his car and calls himself a coward.

when he stands, he can see a bit of the glowing inner city reserved for stardust and royalty, and decides to look at the sky instead.

the air smells like smoke and pot and inconsquential thoughts.

josh is so small, and he cannot see the stars.

he decides he'll talk to tyler tomorrow, and sleeps on the roof.

he's not sure whether he cares about himself anymore.

 

tyler's face is locked in an expression josh knows well.

apathy.

he knocks twice on the counter, and tyler doesn't snap out of it, but rather awakens like an old car living stored away.

his eyelids flutter, and he shakes his head.

"josh."

"tyler."

"sorry, im just a little," he gestures with his hand, swirling his fingers, and raises it above his head.

"give me a minute."

josh leans against the counter and taps something out against his thigh.

"ok, yeah. what can i help you with?"

"do you wanna hang out?"

tyler smiles, bright and sleepy.

"yeah, okay."

he turns on his phone and enters a quick conversation with his coworker, josh assumes.

josh prays, for the first time, that tyler doesn't ask to visit josh's home. his palms are cold and sweaty.

tyler hangs up and asks if josh wants to go to his apartment.

josh nods, and the blood racing through his veins begins to slow.

the flowers in his ears are wilted, and he pulls them out and drops them on the concrete.

they get in tyler's car.

it feels like a palace.

 

tyler's apartment is dimly lit and plastered with vintage photography and band posters.

there's an unmistakable smell of marjuana in the air, and as they take their shoes off at the door, tyler asks, quietly, whether he wants to smoke some.

josh nods and sits in the middle of tyler's living room, on the hardwood floor.

tyler walks around in the kitchen, opening and closing drawers and cabinets and with every heavy step, the shelves in the living room shake.

tyler comes back with a lighter and hands josh a blunt.

their smoke forms feline shapes in the air, and josh's eyelids flutter as he leans back on one hand, the other dangling the blunt.

"where do you get this from?" he says, offhandly.

tyler smiles grimly and blows smoke in josh's face.

"chronic pain."

they sit in silence for a bit, and josh watches their smoke spill out of pink bitten lips and swirl into the ceiling like he might watch the night sky.

josh rolls over onto his stomach, and the hard floor bites into his prominent hipbones.

the breath he takes is long and deep.

tyler speaks up.

"i really do like your eyes, you know."

tyler's eyes slide along the arch of josh's back.

the sun is setting outside.

"okay."

his eyelids slide shut.

 

he wakes up slowly, and he's surprised to see the sun isn't yet shining through the windows. instead, a cliche red lit clock on tyler's nightstand reads 1:58 am.

tyler's back is silhouetted by a bright street lamp outside.

he doesn't speak, but josh watches the outline of his spine disappear back inside him and the muscles on his back unlock carefully as he climbs down from his throne on the window sill and drops gracefully onto the floor next to josh.

josh is the first to break the silence.

"is it more starry night or fishermen at sea out there?"

josh feels, more than sees tyler's smile.

"definitely night on the dneiper river."

this is when josh grabs tyler's hand, avoiding the white bandage on his wrist, and kisses each of his fingers, slowly, gentle.

tyler sighs softly, and josh kisses the palm of his hand.

"i gotta go."

tyler sits up.

"what? it's 2:07 am. just stay until morning."

oh god josh hopes his car is still there. he cannot imagine the cold that will chill him to his core if he returns to find an empty parking space.

"i'm sorry."

"josh, please, stay. what-what if you get mugged, or, or raped or-"

josh kisses his cheek, his eyelashes brushing against tyler's temple, and tyler goes silent.

"wouldn't be anything new."

josh swings his jacket over his shoulders and pulls on his shoes.

"josh?" tyler's voice is small, and vulnerable.

"will i see you?"

josh pauses, his foot half out the door.

a car passes by.

"pick some new flowers. the other ones wilted."

the door closes, but not with finality.

 

tyler's daises are yellow this time.

"hey, would you happen to sell hair dye here?"

tyler raises his eyebrows.

"aisle seven."

"do you have a bathroom?"

"end of aisle four."

josh moves to toss him a crumpled up bill, but tyler stops him.

"it's on me."

it doesn't take josh long.

his hair is red now, ruby red, and tyler decides that red is his new favorite color.

 

josh visits tyler everyday for a month.

his dollar bills are always crumpled and dirty and sometimes he'll come in with water dripping from his hair rolling down his face, and tyler thinks he found god on earth.

but tyler doesn't know, that josh sits in the front seat of that goddamned car with tears threatening his eyes with a gun to his head while he tries his best to straighten out his one dollar bills and how he dunks his head in the fountain until his face feels like it's frozen stiff.

he doesn't know that josh asks brendon for an electric razor and his hands shake in the mirror until brendon just does it for him with concerned eyes.

he doesn't know that josh thinks he's blind sometimes, because he can't see himself being anything in the future except for dead.

they've known each other for three weeks when tyler finally asks.

the question makes josh's hands freeze in their nervous tapping and it feels like everything froze for a split two seconds, like a glitchy computer program.

"could we hang out at your place?"

josh was never the sharpest tool in the shed but he knows that this is the end.

so he gives tyler a heavy smile, shoves his hands in his pockets and says,

"yeah, let's go."

and then they're walking down the street, and tyler's looking around in the direction they're walking in with confusion in his eyes.

josh feels tyler's eyes on him, but he hunches his shoulders and keeps walking.

tyler is almost scared as they enter the near empty parking lot, anxiety riddling his thoughts.

he thinks about his throat cut open with a pocketknife hidden in josh's pocket, and decides that it wouldn't be that bad.

josh stops walking as he reaches an graffitied black car parked at the edge of the lot.

he turns around, and smile he offers tyler is wrapped up so tightly he can't even begin to unravel it.

josh hops onto the roof of the car.

"home sweet home."

 

tyler feels a lot of things all at once.

more confusion, pity, sadness, frustration, and the itch under his skin that begins to burn, telling him he needs to do something.

"wait, what-"

josh cuts him off.

his eyes look watery, and he looks up and away for a few seconds.

"i came out to my parents when i was 17."

his breath shakes in his throat, and he swallows, and stares up for a moment, and the pregnant pause of silence is enough to tell tyler what happened.

"i packed a bag, and i began to learn the art of trade. i started out in columbus, ohio."

he smiles bitterly, and shakes his head.

"i traded car rides for blowjobs, cigarettes for dares and a place to sleep for use of my body. i guess-i guess i never quite learned the value of things, and i got taken advantage of."

a deep breath, and josh hops off the car and paces, red hair fluttering.

"a lot. but that's okay, right? you don't need to care about my sob story background because this is the end, right? because who would be friends with a homeless person? even my parents didn't love me."

his words drip venom, but he's only spitting them at himself and tyler knows he isn't immune.

"josh, do you have a bag?"

"yeah, why?"

"do you care about this car?"

"everyday, i hope i never have to come back. im fucking sick of my heart jumping into my throat everytime my eyes promise me it's not there anymore."

tyler has a sad, little smile on his face.

"then kiss it and tell it goodbye for the last time."

josh looks up at him, face devastatingly vulnerable.

"what?"

tyler opens the door of the car.

"c'mon. my apartment is only a couple blocks away."

josh cries silently, tears running down his face as he shoves everything into a bag.

he wipes his face with his sleeve, and follows tyler into the setting sun.

 

tyler takes the bag from him halfway through the walk to his apartment.

josh stares at the ground.

"how old are you, josh?"

"21."

he frowns, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"i think."

tyler counts backwards from 11 and takes a deep breath.

"i'm 25."

josh nods.

the walk in silence for the rest of the time, but it is nothing close to comfortable.

they walk up the rickety stairs.

a couple walking up the sidewalk stare at josh.

josh turns away and looks at the little metal keychain attached to his rusted key.

this time, it's tyler who spins around with a complicated little smile, and says,

"welcome home."

josh takes his first real shower in a long time, and the shampoo reminds him of sweeter days.

he can't sleep. he's not used to sleeping on an actual mattress.

but it's soft and he's clean and maybe, he'll die when he's old.

the first few weeks, josh doesn't get out of the house. he stays back and looks through cookbooks and organizes the living room and makes a different thing for lunch each day.

he takes it to tyler in a paper bag, and even though each time it's burned or undercooked or too salty or flavorless, tyler eats every bite and smiles and tells him he's getting better.

it's at the end of the fourth week that things change.

josh wakes up with start, red numbers blinking an angry 1:42 am.

he lays there for a moment, not quite sure what woke him up, but not quite sure he wants to sleep again.

he hears a muted thump from the kitchen, and wonders what tyler is still doing up.

he gets up, quietly as he can, and opens the door slowly as possible, holding his breath.

he creeps out into the hallway and peeks through the little bit of the door that tyler left open.

the lights are dim, but it's enough for josh to observe the scene spread out in front of him.

tyler sitting at the kitchen counter, a vodka bottle sitting to the side.

a spread of bills and small print and red stamps scattered all over the table, and tyler, his head buried in his hands.

tyler leans his head back, and stares at the ceiling for a second.

then he takes a shot from the bottle.

josh, heart in his throat, tip toes back to his room and tries not to trip over the ten pound weights in his feet, because he knows he is the cause.

he lies there again, on the soft mattress, and he feels so heavy that he thinks maybe he can sink through the bed, through the ground, into a hole where he is alone.

he feels so empty.

and yet this shell of his is more of a burden than he can take.

he gathers up every thought and emotion in his mind, and dips each one in dripping steel.

he has a job to do tomorrow.

 

josh wakes up late. but it doesn't matter, he guesses.

he scribbles out a quick note to tyler, and slips on leggings and a tshirt.

the streets are cold, but he won't be soon. no point in putting on a jacket and running the risk of losing it in a bathroom stall.

he slides through the first door, and quickly locks in on his first target.

he sits down, all flexible limbs and masculine elegance, and smiles that heavenly smile.

"hey."

he has forgotten how rough tile can be to his knees.

 

he gets home late. later than tyler.

his throat is sore and his knees are covered in bruises but there's a thick wad of money in his back pocket.

he hands it to tyler as soon as he walks in the door, and smiles that same smile.

tyler doesn't ask questions. (he will soon.)

he just hugs josh, warm and grateful, and josh thinks it's worth it.

but he never really quite knew the value of things.

but it seems like maybe they'll be okay.

maybe josh will learn how to fall asleep on his luxury mattress.

maybe tyler will empty out the bottle of vodka into the kitchen sink.

maybe they'll finally be able to fix the drip in the bathroom sink.

maybe they can replace the lightbulb in the hallway.

maybe josh will stop shaking everytime he gets in tyler's car.

maybe.

 

things go on for a while like normal, although it's undoubtably more tense, like a rubber band wrapped around a wrist being stretched out.

josh comes him with bruises up and down his neck, with scratches down his arms, with his hair tangled.

he doesn't hand the money to tyler anymore.

he drops it on the table, and limps off to his room.

the bags under his eyes are beginning to look designer.

they're stuck in this constant state of grey, and it isn't as black as the darkness that taunts their eyelids but it will never be as bright as the yellow highlighters stacked neatly in the store.

it's a late night, this time.

josh is walking home, arms wrapped around himself.

cars race past him to hundreds of different destinations, and he thinks about how every single person in each one of those cars is experiencing a life all their own.

he feels so small. he will not earn a place in the starry night above.

what he will earn is rough hands snatching him abruptly into an alleyway.

"whore."

josh is pressed up against the wall, a warm body up against his.

he feels his soul start receding.

"learned all about your little exploits over this parta town. think i can get some for free, slut?"

there is disgusting, hot breath grazing the back of his neck, but he can't feel it.

josh can only mutter out quiet no's as the man drops his pants.

josh can only shut his eyes as his pants are dropped too.

josh can only clench his fists as a finger, slick with spit, enters him.

josh can only cry as the stranger thrusts forcefully into him, and there's only a rough wall scraping into his skin to comfort him.

and in his head, he becomes another statistic.

it is with bare feet that he walks home, pockets empty and tear streaks decorating his pale cheeks.

he is empty.

he unlocks the door himself this time, and it takes every single ounce of strength left in his abused body to collapse onto the couch rather than the floor.

"oh my god, josh!"

tyler runs to him, kneeling on the floor and cradling his face in his hands.

"josh, josh-"

josh can't see anything through the fountain of water streaming out of his eyes, and the sobs scratching through his throat are painful to listen to.

tyler is crying too, and he has his arms wrapped around him and he doesn't even ask because his ripped shirt and bare feet and fingerprinted neck is enough for tyler.

it's to the bath they go.

josh sits, still in his clothes, and tyler gently cleans his face with a washcloth and runs his fingers through his hair with a touch much more gentle than the hands in the alleyway.

tyler stands up to leave, but josh tugs on his arm and tyler stays, and tyler is the one who rinses away anything and everything from josh's body.

tyler is the one who swipes concealer back and forth over the purple marks on josh's shoulders.

tyler is the one who puts bandaids over the scrapes on josh's fists and knees.

tyler is the one who kisses josh softly, as delicate as a butterfly on a finger, and josh is the one who kisses back with just as much tender desperation.

and josh looks in those shiny, see through brown eyes and he thinks that maybe things will get better this time.

they're sitting in tyler's room again, smoke drifting through the air.

except this time, they're curled into each other and tyler peppers kisses like stars over the bridge of josh's nose.

josh's hair is yellow now, and it's as bright as the smile tyler wakes up to every morning.

"tyler, do you have a hammer?"

and soon, thoughts of a graffitied black car with rotting leather seats will have no place in their wonderland.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading.  
> tumblr:washedouteyes  
> instagram:dysautonomiaa


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